It all started with minor hassles, like flailing your own hand with a rope,
and then culminated with a horse colicking. Caught early and given a grand total of 1 gallon of mineral oil, Jack was making a slow recovery. Todd spent the night in the barn to watch over him. Horses pass manure 8-10 times a day, so no poop in 13 hours had us worried. But then he did this:
He was allowed out of his grazing muzzle and given a smidge of hay.
Later he made me proud:
I took him off the critical list to refocus on the men here to cut storm damaged trees. They'd brought their own incarnation of Murphy. First off, this genius mangled our automatic gate.
By a certain age, one should understand the concept of an automatic gate that opens and the shuts after a set time. They don't stay open forever. You don't have time to get out of your truck, walk about and then drive in slowly and not expect it to catch between your truck and trailer.
And when it does catch, you should probably stop, not keep going. We're submitting it to Auburn University's Art Museum as yard art. A title evades me. 'Inbreeding Versus Steel' or 'Ignorance Marches On'.
This individual was the gift that just kept on giving. Specifically instructed to drop loads of debris at least 15 feet from the edge of the smoldering burn pile, guess what he opted to do? Drop it partially in. We've been under a burn ban since the beginning of Spring. With mountains of debris like this, that we've been collecting since Spring...
... we've had to make them disappear during the cover of night and heavy rain. With rain 5 days out of the week, we've managed to make a forests of limbs and logs go 'poof'.
So when you drop a tandem load of dry limbs in a smoldering fire you get more fire. And fires are supposed to stay inside the dug out burn pit, not jump the border and creep around. That's called the makings of a forest fire. By the time I'd gotten to the burn pile staging area with my load, I had to play fireman. And by the time the perpetrator returned, we had managed to push his load into the burn pit and I had an unsanctioned fire to tend to for a couple hours. Was I happy? I was raging-- on the inside. Not being my employee, but one belonging to the company hired to help us, I had to tread delicately. In my career, I've often encountered men who refuse to take orders from a woman and that's when I show them how unfeminine I can be. As another gentleman standing at the burn pile stated: "You crawled up his ass!!!". Unfortunately necessary at times, but deeply satisfying.
To redeem himself, he slayed a large Eastern Diamondback rattlesnake where the men were working.
Every village has one (I'm not talking about rattlesnakes either).
The rallter had 10 buttons and was +4 ft. long.
The rest of the crew did a monster amount of work in a day and a half.
Dear Santa, please leave a Bobcat with grappler under my Christmas tree!
Once again we have an enormous amount of wood in the staging area.
All the while, Jack had been under my vigilant eyeball and by Saturday morning, he was dehydrated again, so I made the decision to ship him to the vet school. Like I had time, but if you take a cup of organization, add 1/4 cup creativity, throw in sprigs of delegating, and sprinkle with patience, you can do anything!!!
Besides, I knew it would be impossible to stay awake to sit up with him that night. We needed to pass the torch to younger vet students. All of us were tuckered out.
Fatigue is contagious apparently. Dax and I stayed while the vets performed a complete battery of tests.
He tried to remain alert, but we both stayed crumpled up in a corner drooling on ourselves.
Or crashing in the admissions foyer.
Jack was entubated and taken to his private suite, Dax and I crawled back to the farm.
Hard to stay awake with Sleeping Beauty as your travel companion.
The only way to keep my chin up is to savor the little things and be thankful for the camaraderie I have every day on the farm.
And the meals shared.
Because I refuse to run on low grade fuel, gimme jet fuel!!! You can't put in 12 hour days by eating Slim Jims and Chef Boyardee, plus I love the creation that is cooking.
Honor life:
Sunday was Tommy's 11th birthday. After work, I barely had daylight to celebrate much, but I had the time to give him a bath.
Bonding with the best steer in the whole wide world.
I can't describe how much I love this boy. Tommy Smith, Happy Birthday, kiddo!
